


camellias

by Kazura



Category: Disgaea (Games)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazura/pseuds/Kazura
Summary: Etna spends a lazy morning in Celestia.
Relationships: Flonne/Etna
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	camellias

Sometimes, when Flonne is particularly persuasive the night before, Etna finds herself staring at the ceiling of Flonne’s bedroom in Celestia in the morning. 

Impromptu sleepovers have long been past the point of being a problem. After the second time, which also happened to be the second time her big brother welcomed her back in the Overlord’s Castle with wide bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, Xenolith has not so subtly suggested that she simply bring a set of clothes with her to change into for next time.

Despite her insistence on the contrary, she did end up taking a few with her, and she’s been waiting for her big brother to say “I told you you needed them” when, yet again, she didn’t come back to the castle that very same night. It’s not really a surprise when the jab never comes, as taciturn as he is, but Xenolith never neglects to hand her a box of baked sweets or a jar of honeyed fruits to bring with her since. When he’s around, at least. the Prince has been sending him to hunt for treasure on who knows what Netherworld often lately.

Smiling wryly at the thought, Etna sits up and stretches her arms above her head. After a yawn, she relaxes her shoulders and blinks blearily around her, still not quite used to how disgustingly bright everything is.

The walls are white. The ceiling is white. Some of the furniture have hints of a soft shade of blue, if her eyes are lucky, but most of them are still white. Even the bedsheets and blankets are. Too clean. Too pure. Etna couldn’t help looking down and checking the color of her nightdress to make sure it’s still as black as night and didn’t somehow turn white as she slept.

The notion is ridiculous that her smile twists into a more sardonic one. If anything were to happen, wouldn’t it be the white being tainted with her black?

Shaking her head, and shaking away her thoughts with it, she looks to her side and sees Flonne still sound asleep. It really is amazing, how loudly she snores. If Etna hadn’t grown as fond of her as she has over the centuries, she might have already slowly pushed her off the bed with an unforgiving foot.

Though she might have not been sleeping in Flonne’s bed at all, if she weren’t as fond of her as she is. Nor would she have allowed herself to be so intimate with an angel whose head is often full of flowers.

Past Etna would have been disappointed in her.

She might tell past Etna to go and develop better tastes in return.

Absentmindedly, she reaches down and takes a lock of Flonne’s hair, guiding it away from her face. With her gloves somewhere in the heap of her and Flonne’s clothes on the floor, she lets the back of a bare finger touch Flonne’s cheek. There’s a part of her—mischievous, impish—that wants to turn her hand and pinch Flonne there as hard as she could, but she ultimately decides against it.

Instead, she rises from the bed and fishes a change of clothes—her clothes, loose and casual for the day ahead—from one of the drawers before slipping out of the room, closing the door as quietly as she could.

When Flonne returned to Celestia, Etna expected her to move back in with her parents again. She didn’t. An Archangel has a certain set of privileges that allows them to comfortably live on their own, if they so wish it.

Compared to the Overlord’s Castle, Flonne’s place is a humble home, with two bedrooms—one for herself, another for a guest that Etna used to borrow but no longer had to—a living room—with a television set so big that it dwarfs Etna in comparison—and a kitchen with an impressive fridge. Etna couldn’t help wondering if Flonne ever used said kitchen. Probably not. She should not. Celestia has Prinnies, too. They ought to do. There’s a small laundry area past the kitchen, too. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s a vast garden in the back, too, and Etna guesses that the space needed for something so big is why Flonne chose to move a bit away from the cluster of buildings around the Seraphic Sanctuary. There are not only flowers but a small patch of vegetables, too. Etna doesn’t care much for the vegetables, but she does like the red flowers growing almost next to the yuie ones. Camellias, Flonne called them, blushing and giggling when Etna asked. They look nice. A bright red color that pops out in the middle of Celestia’s light. A river flows along the side of the garden, and Etna would be lying if she said that the light of the setting sun isn’t impressive reflected on its waters. She watches it with Flonne, whenever they can, Flonne’s hand in hers and hers in Flonne’s, away from prying eyes.

It’s the kitchen that she heads to for now, after she has washed her face and changed her clothes. The basket that her brother and Sicily sent along with her is still on the counter, although its contents have long been moved to the fridge. Or were eaten the night before, when Etna found Flonne buried in some books about ancient magic systems or whatnot. She may or may not have shoved a sandwich or two down the throat of one of Celestia’s highest ranking angels, but, eh, who can blame her? She has girlfriend privileges, and she’s not about to let them go to waste.

She sets the basket aside and opens the fridge. She’s not completely helpless when she doesn’t have the Prinnies tagging along. Having an older brother who insists on handling his own food whenever he could helps, as she often found herself watching him out of curiosity as he puttered about in the kitchen. 

To her frustration, there’s a sharp pain to her ribs, a little below her heart, when she reaches for the ingredients she has in mind. Her magic is tamer now. She has better control of it than she’s ever had in her entire life. But with it still comes a dull, constant squeeze, and maybe a prick, every now and then. Florence, the head nurse back at the castle, called it chronic, but Etna couldn’t really care other than the fact that it hurt, and that she doesn’t like worrying Flonne about it hurting. Because the idiot will drop anything and fuss like the worrywart that she is, and then what will they get done?

Normally, she herself would just sit down. Spoil herself for a bit. Or unleash her magic into the sky and drain out as much as she could until the sharp pain disappears from the forefront. But unleashing such a massive amount of magic in Celestia would turn eyes on her. And on Flonne. Can’t have that now, can she? Her task isn’t herculean anyway. And Flonne needs to eat, if anything. It wouldn’t be long.

Eggs are simple enough, and it doesn’t take long for her to have two cooked sunny-side-up, along with some bacon and toast. Not the most amazing breakfast in all of the three worlds. She burned the bacon a bit. But it should do. She can just eat the burnt part, and it’s when she’s nibbling on it that the telltale sound of a door opening reaches her ears.

She swallows the bacon, immediately regrets it, then sets the food down on the dining table before dumping the pan and spatula she used onto the sink. She dries her hands just in time for Flonne to walk into view. Maybe it’s the complacency of being in her own home, despite having a guest over, but she’s still in her white nightie. Despite Etna braiding her hair the night before to prevent another episode of Celestia’s Wildest Bedheads, stray stands of her hair still managed to slip free and are now framing her face like limp noodles. Definitely not the prettiest sight.

Etna can’t help grinning nonetheless.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Mornin’,” Flonne mumbles, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. “Why’re you up s’ early?”

Etna shrugs. She does like her beauty sleep, but she likes the sound of seizing the day even more. “It’s not that early. Do you want to eat first? Or should I help you with that?”

Flonne laughs, a little sheepishly. “Ehehehe, hair please. I like it when you brush it.”

Etna doesn’t bother holding back a snort when she retrieves a brush from one of her pockets. A precaution, when waking up within Flonne’s vicinity. “Someone has to. I don’t know why you insist on keeping it this long if it’s prone to getting tangled in your sleep a lot.”

“Everyone here keeps it that way.” There’s less sleep in her voice now. Her back is to Etna as she sits down on one of the chairs in the living room.

“Uh-huh.” As if Flonne’s only reason for doing literally anything would be to keep along with trends.

“And, um, we can maybe store spare magic there.”

“Really?” Etna considers her own hair, now tied up in a quick ponytail instead of the usual twin pigtails that everyone who knows her are more familiar to. If she grew it out, would it help her magic quiet down a bit?

“In theory!” Flonne says. “But we do store them in ribbons and suchlike for now, ehehe.”

Etna hums, gently tugging at the ribbons holding Flonne’s braids together. “I’ve never done that with my hair ties.” The concept of storing magic in objects aren’t exactly new to her. She knows for a fact that her brother has two sets of stones. One set fancy and expensive and nice to look at, another to fill with magic to the point of bursting and chucking it at enemies. Other than being small and easier to carry around with him, she doesn’t see why he can’t just throw Prinnies. He can always just ask her. She can volunteer a few.

On hair ties though. That does make a good point. “Think my usual ones can handle it without exploding?” she asks, grinning.

“I can take a look if you’d like,” Flonne says, and Etna can hear the smile in her voice.

“Later then,” Etna says, brushing back Flonne’s hair. Braiding her hair during the night certainly helped, but there were still a few knots in the ones that escaped. It still doesn’t take as long as the first time Etna found herself staring slack-jawed at the sight of Flonne’s hair, seemingly ravaged by a dust devil—no, a tornado—when she wasn’t looking.

“There,” Etna says with finality, combing through Flonne’s hair with her fingers this time. “You look more like an Archangel now.”

“Thank you,” Flonne says, looking back at her with a smile as bright as the skies outside.

No longer finding the need to restrain herself, Etna reaches out and pinches Flonne’s cheek. “You can pay me with sweets,” Etna says, to distract herself and maybe Flonne from the rising heat she feels on her own face.

She’s turning away, heading back towards the dining table, when Flonne says, “Okay!”

Surprised, Etna turns back, a few witty words at the ready on her tongue, when she feels Flonne’s lips pressed against her cheek.

Stupid angel laughs stupidly before stupidly skipping away. It’s just as well. Etna’s face is likely a good contender against her own bright hair, and all over a stupid angel.

She takes in a deep breath and tries to at least look like a demon with some dignity when she faces Flonne again. If someone, even Flonne, were ever to say that she were smiling throughout the morning, she’ll just tell them that the light present throughout all of Celestia is just playing some trick on them.

It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with Flonne. Or with Flonne’s declaration of “Let’s go on a date!” mere minutes after taking her first bite.

**Author's Note:**

> disgaea rpg dumped fuel into the quiet fire of flonne/etna that ive been keeping hidden within the cockles of my dark dark heart so ive finally written a fic. idek this is just a domestic mess. i hope even just one (1) other person enjoys it at the very least
> 
> the first incident with flonne's hair refers to a 4koma in one of the official anthologies. etna helped her with her hair then, too. they're so cute
> 
> Anyway, for more ways to find me, [here's my Carrd](https://artwaltzed.carrd.co/).


End file.
